


Brush it Off

by torrential



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hair Brushing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4681067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torrential/pseuds/torrential
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy offers an unusual form of stress relief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brush it Off

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/4501.html?thread=8555669#cmt8555669) prompt on the Daredevil Kink Meme.

It’s a little ritual they’ve developed over the past couple of weeks, starting when Foggy has to help Matt brush dried blood and some other sort of powdery debris out of his hair. At first he stoically bears the tugging through the various matted areas with the occasional grimace, but as the dampened brush manages to cut through more and more of the tangles his expression relaxes, lashes slowly lowering, and soon Foggy finds him leaning into the strokes.

“Earth to Daredevil,” he murmurs after a few moments. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Hm?” Matt blinks his eyes open but they’re sleepy and unfocused. “Mm, yeah. Feels good.”

Foggy is fairly sure that normally Matt wouldn’t admit to anything of the sort, self-flagellating self-denying personality that he is. So he doesn’t remark upon it because Matt actually non-self-consciously enjoying something is a rarity to be encouraged and continues running the brush through Matt’s hair, bristles now passing smoothly through the thick dark mass. Matt still needs to shower and get the rest of the crud out but at least he no longer looks like he put his head through a wooden plank. Foggy pauses to re-dampen the brush, and even that short pause has Matt lifting his head with a questioning noise, eyes opening partway from where they’ve fallen closed again.

“Not going anywhere,” Foggy reassures him, resuming his steady strokes. Matt sighs a little, lets his eyes slide closed once more. Soon, every breath is a soft sigh, a slight thickening of the air more than an actual sound, but that escalates to a contented hum under each pass of the brush. The closest, Foggy figures, a human being can get to a cat’s purr.

It’s strangely endearing, and Foggy regrets when he has to set the brush aside after awhile when his arm gets tired. Matt utters a noise of complaint. “C’mon, hero, you need to take a shower before you fall asleep on your feet,” Foggy tells him, and Matt grumbles but straightens up obediently, hands falling to the catches of his remaining armor. How he managed to get his hair that dirty with the cowl on... Thankfully there aren’t any serious injuries to deal with this time, just a few scrapes on Matt’s scalp which don’t require stitches but had bled profusely. Hence the brushing out. Foggy rinses the brush in the sink, watching flakes of dried blood swirl down the drain, before leaving his friend to wash up.

He figures that’s that, an interesting but ultimately isolated incident until Matt’s over for beer and B-movies night, an occasion they’ve neglected to host for a long time now but both feel is necessary for the benefit of their still undergoing-repairs friendship. They’ve both downed a few bottles of some fancy German weißbier that Matt probably couldn’t have afforded to pick up but which he swears tastes of cloves, vanilla, and apples and of which Foggy says tastes like beer, to which he’s pronounced a Philistine, and are leaning against each other giggling on Foggy’s tattered couch as Foggy spins an outlandish romance between the monster on-screen currently terrorizing a sleepy coastal village and the main character’s girlfriend’s toy poodle. “No, really, imagine their sex life,” he insists, waving his half-full bottle for emphasis and nearly clocking Matt in the temple. “With a size difference like that, every night’s an adventure! Possibly of the spelunking sort,” he adds before doubling up in wheezing laughter.

Matt nearly snorts his beer out of his nose. “You’re filthy,” he accuses after he gets himself under control, before adding plaintively, “Is the poodle at least attractive?”

“Why, are you asking for somebody you know?” Foggy digs an elbow into Matt’s side and is rewarded with a gentle swat upside the head. Matt never roughhouses, never has, but on occasion he’ll give as good as he gets. It makes Foggy grin.

“Filthy,” Matt asserts again before lapsing into silence as the hero mans up and saves the girl. And her dog. Foggy dutifully describes what’s going on, including the culmination of the tragic interspecies love affair which ends with the monster sinking dramatically into the waters of the bay--

“Where its blood has probably crippled the local fishing industry for the next century,” he concludes. “Moral of the story: maybe the animal rights people have a point.”

Matt considers this very carefully, setting his now-empty bottle on the side table. “About interspecies relationships?”

“That too.” It makes sense in Foggy’s head, anyway and he pronounces this with great solemnity. Matt snickers, pushing into his shoulder with his own. And then going a little further as he keels over like a tripod that’s lost one of its legs, shoulder and then back dragging down Foggy’s front until he’s lying on his side sprawled all over Foggy’s lap.

On a whim, Foggy lifts a hand and plunks it heavily down on Matt’s head, who mumbles a bit in protest but doesn’t move to shake him off. Matt’s hair is soft and thick under his fingers and without thinking Foggy curls them in, gives him a little scratch behind his ear.

“Mm...” That sounds suspiciously like a noise of approval so Foggy does it again. “ _Mm_.” Uh huh. The sample size is small but from where Foggy’s sitting, Matt Murdock approves of getting his hair pet. Well, far be it for him to deny his friend. He starts carding his fingers through Matt’s hair in earnest, nails scratching lightly along his scalp.

Matt purrs, body going even more boneless than just from the effects of the beer. He practically puddles across Foggy’s legs, turning his head this way and that for better access. His face, from the occasional glimpses Foggy gets of it, is two furry ears and a set of whiskers away from utter feline ecstasy.

Suddenly, Foggy’s mouth is very dry.

This is innocent touching, right? Not like, the straightest thing ever to do with your straight best friend, but innocuous enough. And Matt seriously looks like he’s blissing out, contented humming emerging with every breath. It is, frankly, an adorable sound. Foggy’s starting to see the amusement potential in this, opens his mouth to say something about Matt-cat, such a pretty kitty--

And then the hum deepens into a low moan.

Foggy freezes, the sound going straight to his dick. Holy shit. Holy _shit_. Beneath his hand, Matt complains wordlessly and Foggy automatically resumes petting while still trying to process that noise and the effect it’s had on him, namely rerouting his bloodstream to south of the border. Thankfully -- thankfully? -- Matt doesn’t make another noise like that, returning to the soft hums and near-purring of before.

Matt Murdock letting out a moan under his hand might be the hottest thing that’s happened to him in his life but for some reason, Foggy finds himself appreciating the content noises more. It signals Happy Matt. Happy Matt lying on his lap. Not that that isn’t hot in of itself, but he’d rather have Happy Matt than a Matt Trying To Deal With Foggy’s Inappropriate Boner.

Gradually the noises begin to die off, fair indication that Matt’s falling asleep, and once again Foggy has to cut this short. He shakes Matt’s shoulder, earning a startled snort as his friend jerks awake and nearly flails off the couch. “Come on, lightweight. There’s a bed with your name on it.” Is that weird to offer now after what’s happened? Foggy decides not to think about it right at the moment. “I’m an awesome pillow but you’re gonna hate yourself in the morning if you sleep on the couch.”

A grouchy noise. “I was comfortable,” Matt complains before cracking a yawn. “Y’ve got a nice touch.”

Foggy blinks, then wonders if preening is the appropriate reaction. “Magic hands, buddy,” he grins. “C’mon, let’s get some water in you before we head off to bed.”

“’kay.” Another yawn and Matt somehow manages to make it to his feet. He’s adorably pliable like this, sleepy and trusting. Like a content kitten, is the unbidden thought.

Another thought: maybe Foggy will have the chance to make him purr some more later.

* * *

How does one platonically offer to brush one’s best friend’s hair without making it weird?

By privately acknowledging that it’s going to be weird but also totally worth it.

They’re at Foggy’s place again and he’s been watching Matt prowl around his living room like a restless wolf for two hours, frustration leaking out of every pore. A drug exchange had gone bad the night before and Matt is still kicking himself over letting the main players escape during the chaos.

“Sit down, Matt, I want to try something.”

It takes a moment for Foggy to make his intentions clear and to get Matt first cooperative, then sitting in front of the couch with his shoulder blades pressed against the cushions instead of sitting beside Foggy _on_ the couch. Foggy carefully swings a leg over Matt’s head so he’s bracketing him with his knees, perched on the edge of the cushion.

Matt has been humoring him thus far -- barely -- but now asks, “Seriously, Foggy, what’s going on--?” The rising tone transforms into a startled noise which then melts into a sigh as Foggy runs the brush he’s wielding over his scalp. “Oh...”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Foggy tells him teasingly. “The last couple of times I did this, you seemed to like it, so I figured...” Already he can see the line of Matt’s shoulders relaxing as he slumps over like the cords of his spine have relaxed from wire-tightness.

“You figured right,” Matt mumbles, chin somewhere near his chest. Foggy grins to himself. Nelson 1, Matt Murdock’s Life -- well, the score’s probably about a million to his one, but at least he has a point! He’s on the board!

And... yes, there it is. Matt is purring, head lolling lazily from side to side to allow better access for the brush. Foggy allows himself a moment of preening before settling in to listen to his personal soundtrack of Happy Matt. Being made happy by Foggy.

It’s amazingly therapeutic for the both of them. Matt gets stress relief without having to beat up his hands on somebody’s face or an unsatisfactory punching bag, and Foggy gets to feel like he’s taking care of his friend in a way that’s small but matters. So now after every bad night, Matt shows up at Foggy’s and after fussing over any accumulated injuries, Foggy brushes Matt’s hair for him.

Still not the straightest thing he could be doing for his friend, but fuck it. Foggy listens to Matt-cat purr and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose there was an opportunity for Foggy to make Matt purr in a different manner but as the academics say, that's beyond the scope of this fic. :)


End file.
